


unwind

by quinnpriv



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Belly Rubs, Established Relationship, M/M, Mpreg, Post canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29239938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinnpriv/pseuds/quinnpriv
Summary: “You hear that? Your father can’t keep his hands off me. He wants me all to himself. Doesn’t want me to show off my baby bump to a million people on TV because he’s a possessive little weirdo.”“I never said that,” Iwaizumi growls.Just because Oikawa is pregnant doesn't mean he's gotten any less annoying.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 10
Kudos: 175





	unwind

**Author's Note:**

> im also on [twt](https://twitter.com/quinnpriv1) <3 thanks for reading

Iwaizumi has a problem.

His problem is _Oikawa Tooru_ , as always.

In general, as a person, Oikawa is tolerable. They’d been born within weeks of each other, summer babies with big smiles and the tendency to scrape their knees every afternoon.

Though Oikawa whined entirely too much, he’d never backed out of going on adventures. His skin didn’t tan well; it’d blistered up, sometimes, when they spent all day catching bugs by the river. Oikawa was—and still _is_ —an enormously strong-willed crybaby.

Despite all of his numerous faults, Iwaizumi had begrudgingly been forced to admit that his best friend was pretty cool, powering through bleeding wounds and peeling, tender patches of skin so that they could spend more time together.

In middle school, when he realizes that Oikawa’s tendency to ignore his body in favor of trying to get better faster, feeling pressure breathe down his neck like a living, breathing thing, is not a _positive_ trait, he becomes Oikawa’s de facto caretaker, making sure he doesn’t kill himself working too hard.

Those days are far behind them now, but the stubborn, stupid part of Oikawa hasn’t changed a bit. He’s thirty-six now, a year out of retirement and nearly eight months pregnant, sipping on some hideous concoction that Iwaizumi most _definitely_ would not have approved of if Oikawa had told him what was in it, juggling a dozen different things at once in their kitchen.

He’s on the phone, talking about various business agreements and brand deals between sips, typing away on his laptop. Oikawa’s hair is drooping in his eyes, now—he’s long overdue for a haircut—and his round belly brushes against the countertop, the size of it highlighted by the skintight, stretchy material of his shirt.

The sight of Oikawa is enthralling, somehow, with his new, plush curves, a rosy glow etched into his cheeks. The way his palm absently rucks up the fabric as he holds himself isn’t indecent at all, but it feels like it _should_ be. Oikawa is comfortable at home, with Iwaizumi, in a way he never is with anybody else. Iwaizumi takes pride in that.

However, the fact that Oikawa lets down his barriers around him, able to be honest and vulnerable, also means that his negative traits come out more easily too. Namely, that he’s a dumbass, self-sabotaging bastard who needs to relax and Iwaizumi has to _make_ him relax by force, if necessary.

Iwaizumi curls an arm around Oikawa’s waist, startling a cough out of him. He toys with his boyfriend’s hips, fingers dipping into the malleable waistband of Oikawa’s trousers, hooking his thumbs into Oikawa’s back, applying gentle pressure.

Into Oikawa’s free ear, he whispers a heated threat. “Hang up the phone, asshole.”

Oikawa mumbles out some flimsy excuse to his agent as to why he has to hang up, and he’s barely pressed the end button when Iwaizumi licks the back of his nape, letting his palms roam further north. “Naughty, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hums, putting his hands on top of Iwaizumi’s. “You couldn’t wait five more minutes?”

“Don’t lie,” Iwaizumi says, shifting their positions so that his back is against the hard marble countertop and the glory of Oikawa’s midsection is pressed flush against him. “You would’ve blocked off your schedule for the next _lifetime_ if I’d let you. Barely give yourself time to breathe.”

“ _You’re_ barely giving me the _space_ to breathe,” Oikawa childishly retorts, but he’s smiling and his brown eyes are bright, obviously delighted to have Iwaizumi’s attention. “You hear that, Kii? Your father can’t keep his hands off me. He wants me all to himself. Doesn’t want me to show off my baby bump to a million people on TV because he’s a possessive little weirdo.”

“I never said that,” Iwaizumi growls, though he _does_ roll his hips, resisting the urge to let his eyes roll back in his head when his clothed cock nearly rubs against Oikawa’s bellybutton. “Also, we’re not naming our son _Kii._ ”

“It’s short for _Kemen_ ,” Oikawa replies, foreign syllables rolling off of his tongue easily, turning to the side so he can kiss Iwaizumi without straining his neck. “It means strength.”

Instead of responding, Iwaizumi opens his mouth, letting his tongue slide against Oikawa’s. There’s no point in arguing, really, he knows. It’s just what they do—get huffy and sarcastic and pointedly ridiculous with each other for no reason. Iwaizumi is _not_ under the mistaken impression that he holds any real power in their relationship other than the blissful and much-appreciated ability to make Oikawa shut up.

Iwaizumi drags Oikawa to the bedroom when he’s tired of being trapped in his jeans, snapping Oikawa’s waistband before they both get undressed. “This shit you have on is obscene.”

Oikawa theatrically pulls a face, looking down and observing his own body. “Is that your convoluted way of saying you don’t like my clothes?”

He rolls his eyes, squeezing Oikawa’s chest and kissing his stomach. “It’s my way of asking why the fuck you’ve got on stuff that looks two sizes too small.”

“I look sexy in them,” Oikawa replies, simply stating a fact.

Annoyingly, he’s right.

Oikawa whines when Iwaizumi pulls on his hair, nails digging into his scalp. “What? It’s true. _You_ think I look hot like this too. Why not profit off of my curves while I’ve got ‘em?”

“Because,” Iwaizumi starts, tone indicating that he has something else to say, but he settles for grumbling out the word one more time. “Just, because.”

He’s a sore loser and he hates admitting defeat, but Oikawa _knows_ he’s won and he’s smug about it, fingers breezily toying with the long, hard line of Iwaizumi’s cock. “Whatever you say, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa purrs, letting his hand wander until it rests on the curve of Iwaizumi’s ass.

For a moment, Iwaizumi weighs the pros and cons of walking away, wondering what Oikawa would do. Whine? Cry? Iwaizumi doesn’t like it when Oikawa does either of those things, not really, but he’s used to tuning out Oikawa’s pointless, empty tantrums. A small part of him wants to see Oikawa lose his cool, let the façade drop, act like the angry, petty, _vicious_ person he could be, to bark out demands and see if Iwaizumi would buck against him or obey.

A larger part of Iwaizumi is in a constant state of being overwhelmed and overjoyed that Oikawa is carrying his kid to term. He’s lying in bed with half-lidded eyes, waiting for Iwaizumi to make a move, to decide what he wants. It’s the illusion of choice, though, because what _Oikawa_ wants is to be spoiled and pampered, to be fucked _delicately_. Iwaizumi doesn’t have the heart to deny him.

“You’re not off the hook for trying to dig yourself into an early grave,” Iwaizumi says at last, slowly plunging his fingers into Oikawa’s damp, waiting heat. “Or for making that _nutrition shake_ earlier. Empty calories.”

Oikawa groans, pushing one knee up as far as it’ll go. “I put vegetables in it!”

“You should’ve just eaten the vegetables,” Iwaizumi grouses, draping his arm over Oikawa’s belly.

They don’t spend much time _talking_ after Iwaizumi inserts a second finger, sliding his digits in and out of Oikawa quickly, impatiently spreading them before he lets the tip of his dick slide into Oikawa’s entrance.

There’s something about holding Oikawa while he’s like this, mewling for more, _begging for it_ , soft and heavier than usual, that speaks to Iwaizumi’s base instincts. Oikawa’s always had nice thighs, but they’re even _nicer_ , now, and god. The whole of him, pregnant and sweaty?

Being inside of Oikawa like this. It’s good shit.

Afterwards, Oikawa lazily says, “I should sell lube,” voice raspy from screaming out Iwaizumi’s name seconds ago, making an unholy mess of the sheets. “And condoms.”

Iwaizumi snorts. He can’t help it. The irony isn’t lost on him. “That sounds dumb as shit.” Despite his blithe comment, he helps tidy up, putting a hand against Oikawa’s back to help balance his weight as he shifts around, center of gravity constantly changing.

“It’s a very niche market,” Oikawa insists, humming as Iwaizumi sucks hickeys into his neck, giving up on hiding the fact that he’s feeling territorial.

“We can talk about it in the morning,” Iwaizumi grumbles, smiling as Oikawa shifts around to get comfortable. “Let him get some rest tonight,” he implores their unborn child.

“Why’re you so much nicer to him than to me? I’m doing all the hard work!”

“ _Sleep_ ,” Iwaizumi hisses, enticing Oikawa to close his eyes by rubbing calm, rhythmic circles on his belly. Once he drifts off, the room is quiet and dark and it’s easy for Iwaizumi to follow suit, warm and cozy in their bed.


End file.
